


The Highlanders

by JensEGresch21



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms
Genre: Historical, Jacobites, Original Fiction, Other, Outlander - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9368759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JensEGresch21/pseuds/JensEGresch21
Summary: A short story I wrote a while back based upon the Jacobite rebellion in Scotland. After watching Outlander, I couldn't stop myself from writing an original piece in the same scenery. Comments and critics welcome.





	

It seems as though it's always grey here. The thick clouds make it hard from the sunlight to break through and enlighten the world beneath it. The rest of the place seems to be made of endless rocky hills of green that captures the eye. It's crystalline waters trickle down pebbled rivers. We follow such a river now, trying to find a way to the nearby village so that we may finally rest unworried and to resupply.  
My horse's hooves squish in the muddied earth, made from the violent downpour that accompanied the night. Around me my companions talk and jest in attempt to cover the loss we suffered at today's sunrise. Balagair had succumbed to his bullet wound, he had lost too much blood and in the end we were too far from civilization to seek any help for the man. Our leader, Euan, rides in front encaptured in silence, I too find it hard to laugh and forgot. I had sat with Balagair in his last moments, doing what I could to mend his suffering. I had been given the role of healer when Euan and the other men had found me, despite the fact that I knew little on how to mend a wound. I feel the weight of Balagair's death on my shoulders, and I suspect the others have too begun to blame me for the outcome. Euan had tried to settle my thoughts, blaming the Red Coats that attacked us but not even the kindest of words can provide a shield against my impugn thoughts.  
If only I had shared my paranoia. I had recorded the signs of an ambush in my mind as we rode earlier the day before. The small evergreen patch we moved through was too quiet, not even a single bird had chirped. The men continued in their usual merry way, chatting and drinking their whiskey. I on the other hand could not rest my thumping heart. We had been ambushed by the English before. I had just been recruited into the Highlander group, that scene was much like the day leading up to Balagair's death but still I said nothing. They would have called me paranoid or told me that my young age made me foolish. So I stayed silent and continued to observe, waiting and hoping to not catch a glimpse of red amongst the trees.  
Then I smelt the odor of black powder. It was unmistakable smell that I had come to associate with death. Nothing good ever came with that horrid stench, even if the projectile coming from such weapon saved my life, it still took another in return. Euan had told me that it was kill or be killed but I would rather leave a weapon where it sits and die then hold in my hands and end another life. Balagair had been watching over me when he was shot, another reason I have come to place the blame on myself. I had heard his scream before I heard the sound of the hammer release on the musket. My horse had reared and thrown me at the same time, I laid in the dirt stunned as shots rang around me. Euan had then ran to my side in my state of shock and dragged me out of the open. He pushed me towards the thicker part of the forest and told me to run but his words did not register until I heard the whizzing of a bullet go past my head. Euan screamed at me, telling me to go. I ran clutching my tartan as the chaos erupted behind me, by the time my feet could no longer handle my weight, I had stumbled into a small stream. The icey water did nothing but add to the numbness that overwhelmed me. I had ran away like a coward while my brothers fought. The sound of flowing water did nothing to soothe me, it even began to enrage me. How dare it move with such indifference while lives were being taken just a few paces away. I stepped out of the stream and sat against a tall pine. Salty tears began to flow from my eyes, from sadness or anger I do not know. Perhaps it was a combination of the two. When the sun began to set I felt the all too familiar feeling of loneliness take over. I no longer heard musket fire but none of my companions had come to me yet. I took that as a sign that the Red Coats had been successful. Once again tears began to fall, their lullaby drifted me off to sleep.  
I awoke to a hand being placed on my face. It was dark by then and a mist had started to coat the forest. I forced my eyes to stay shut, if this was to be my last moments I did not want to know when the finishing blow would come. Surely the victorious had found me and soon I would join my lost friends in whatever world they now belonged to. As I sat there squeezing my eyes, the rough hand then moved and began to pat me on the head. My eyes rebelliously opened, my overbearing curiosity getting the better of me. Euan's grey, scruffy beard filled my vision. I followed the beard to the pale eyes that always comforted me and I began to assume that the English had already killed me. The view before me had to be the afterlife. I began to express my assumptions to Euan and laughter erupted around me. Edan, Quany, Tadhg and Benneit all stood around me. Their bloodied and dirty faces brought me such joy and I leapt up from the ground at once and wrapped my arms around Euan in which he returned the gesture but when I regained my self control , Euan's dismal face caused my smile to disappear. He began to explain Balagair's condition and my friend's blood curdling screams replayed over and over in my head. I had failed to notice him slumped against a neighboring tree, his face void of color and his hand clutched to his lower side. I ran to him and began to move away the layers of his blood soaked tartan. The bullet hole was larger than any I had worked with before and so I began to work quickly. I had no real idea on how to treat such a wound. Before this I had tended simple cuts and grazes, never had I dealt with such a large amount of blood loss. It began to downpour as I worked further on Balagair. He mumbled in his feverish state and as the other men worked to keep a fire, I began to lose him. I tended the wound the entire night and did my best to soothe him. At one point he had opened his eyes for a final time and smiled at me before drifting back off into oblivion. By sunrise he had taken his last breath and my companions and I had buried him before we set off that morning. There had been no ceremony or no real grave due to the ground being nothing but mush. Balagair was given a rocky grave and the others had moved on. I was the only one to linger. I once again placed a hand on the pile of rocks that covered my friend. Sorry was the only word I could get out and then I mounted my horse and caught up to the others.  
We finally reached our destination. It's always grey here. Black clouds don't allow anything but rain. My horse's hooves squish in the muddied earth of the village. Euan had found an Inn that we could rest in for the day.


End file.
